


Talk is cheap my Darling

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Food Porn, Ice Mechanic, Wedding Planner Roan, minty, or more like food foreplay I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: Raven isn't crazy about being maid of honor in her last single friend's wedding, seeing as she doesn't believe in marriage at all. It doesn't exactly help that Monty's wedding planner is an absolute asshole. Clearly, there's only one thing to do: Make his job as difficult as possible.At least, that's the plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here's my Wedding Planner!Roan AU. It got much longer and much smuttier than expected, but oh well.

 

Love is stupid. Raven Reyes has known that since kindergarten, when she punched a boy because he pulled on her ponytail and was chastised because _“H_ _e only did it because he likes you.”_

Finn almost made her believe she was wrong – until the day she picked up his phone to answer a call from an unknown number and a female voice on the other end informed her that she was speaking to “Finn's girlfriend.”

She got Clarke out of that distasteful episode, though, and when both Clarke and Lexa and her and Wick crashed and burned at the same time, Raven was happily starting to plan their future as eccentric spinsters. That's when, after years of silently being pined after by Bellamy, Clarke suddenly discovered that she liked him back.

To add insult to injury, Bellamy introduced his best friend Miller to Raven's friend and roommate Monty, and now it's two years after her supposed spinsterly life-partner got married that her _other_ potential platonic life partner is getting married too, and Raven is about to be the only single person in their entire friend group.

Which doesn't really bother her too much, honestly, because as the designer of the wildly successful anti-cheating app “mySpy”, Raven knows exactly just how bad most people are at staying monogamous. (The app was an accident, really: When she accused Finn of cheating on her, he got incredibly defensive, and “ _Why don't you bug my phone then, if you don't believe me?”_ turned into Raven staying up all night to write the app and ending up with Clarke's number and a picture of her in nothing but a set of lacy blue underwear.)

Of course, she has complete faith that her friends, who deserve nothing but happiness, are the exception to that rule and will stay together forever, so she is grudgingly accepting the wave of weddings. But in contrast to Clarke and Bellamy's improvised yet impossibly romantic elopement, Monty and Nathan are going _all out_.

“It's a political statement”, Nathan explains when they ask her to be Monty's maid of honor. “They don't want us to get married? We're going to get married so hard, every homophobic bigot on the planet is going to hear about it.”

Getting married “so hard” apparently includes not only flying 200 people to a rented villa in Italy, but also hiring Roan Azgeda, TV personality and wedding planner to the stars, to throw the ridiculous shindig. Raven's concerns about the financial wisdom of that decision are soundly rejected by Monty.

“It'll be good for business. We'll publish some of the wedding photos, and people will love it. I mean, if anyone has to believe in love, it's gotta be me.”

He's not wrong, per se: In a ridiculous example of poetic irony, Raven's best friend makes his money with niche dating apps – not just apps for lonely singles of different sexual orientations, faiths, or places of residence, but dating apps for dog owners and foodies and hockey fans and whatnot. And where she would suspect anyone else of only taking advantage of people's loneliness (or horniness, in many cases), Monty honestly believes that he's doing good in the world. Whenever Raven tries to convince him that, ultimately, most relationships are doomed to fail, Monty always counters: “Maybe. But you've got to give people a chance to try.”

And now he wants her, a public symbol of the frailty of love and regular recipient of hate-mail from supposedly happily married people, to stand witness when he swears to love and honor his boyfriend of two years until the end of his days.

“If you're trying to make a public statement, won't it look really, _really_ bad if I'm standing next to you in the pictures?”

Monty handwaves that concern away.

“I don't care what it looks like. You're my best friend, I want you in this wedding.”

One week after accepting the stupid maid of honor title (because how could she ever say no to Monty?), Raven is letting herself into Monty and Nathan's apartment for their first meeting with the wedding planner, whose show she sometimes secretly (and very drunkenly) hate-watches late at night.

As the only, late son of a 1950s screen goddess, Roan is Hollywood royalty and, as he explains in the opening montage to his show, has seen some glamorous weddings - which is apparently meant to assure viewers that he is competent at what he does. And she has to grudgingly admit, some of his weddings do end up looking pretty nice.

But getting there apparently requires him being incredibly pushy, and that may just be the thing she hates the most about Azgeda's stupid, cheesy, overedited show. He always thinks he knows better than the couples what they want, always develops what he calls a “vision” that is the complete opposite of what the couples describe to him in the beginning of the episode, and not a single couple in the few episodes she's watched has ended up with the wedding they actually wanted.

But that shit is not going to fly here. She's not going to let him ruin her friends' wedding. She may not believe in love, but she believes in good customer service and good parties, and she'll make damned sure Monty and Miller get both – which is what she tells him the moment their hosts leave them alone together to get snacks from the kitchen.

“Just so you know, I won't let you force your stupid “vision” on my friends”, she opens, out of the blue, and watches him raise an eyebrow in surprise. “I'm going to keep my eye on you, and if Monty and Miller don't get exactly what they wanted, I will make your life a living hell.”

“I take it you don't like my show.” His voice is deadpan, and shockingly different from what it sounds like on TV – deeper, more gravelly, and, Raven notices to her mortification, tugging at something deep inside her and sending shocks to places which have not received any loving attention in a _very_ long time. Which, she quickly reasons with herself, is probably why she's reacting this way. Maybe it is indeed time to put herself out there once again, see if she can't find someone for a few nights even if she doesn't believe in finding someone for a happily-ever-after.

“The only reason I push people so hard on my shows is that otherwise they would end up with horrible, tacky weddings, and that would reflect badly on my company. But your friends clearly have impeccable taste,” he gives the apartment, an industrial loft that somehow manages to feel sleek and earthy at the same time, an approving once-over, “so there's no need for threats. Now, what are you wearing?”

Raven stares at Azgeda for a moment, wondering if all his TV fame has gone to his head and killed a few too many brain cells there. She's standing right in front of him, he can plainly see what she's wearing – tight jeans so her leg brace fits over them, a tank top and her favourite red bomber jacket. Unless he's asking about the bits of her outfit he can't see?

Raven suddenly wishes she was in kindergarten again, allowed to punch boys and get away with nothing but a tongue-lashing.

“At the wedding, sweetheart. What will you be wearing at the wedding? You'll be right next to the grooms the entire time, we'd better make sure you match.”

Raven looks down at the array of wedding magazines, color swatches and photographs of flower arrangements. The overall impression is soft and pastel-colored, with the dominant colors white and lavender, and she smiles maliciously. She's not going to make this easy on him, _oh no_. Not after he called her _sweetheart_.

“Red. Bright, fire-engine red.” And, determined to make things as difficult as possible, she adds: “Bedazzled with rhinestones.” There, she thinks, _pastel that!_

But instead of getting to watch his face derail in horror at the mention of what is clearly the tackiest possible color at a wedding, he only nods, and calmly jots down her words.

“Red with rhinestones. Got it.” When he looks at her again, his eyes are twinkling mischievously, and there's a look on his face that says that he not only accepts her challenge, but welcomes it. Is turned on by it a little bit, perhaps, if the way his eyes quickly dart down the length of her body is any indication.

Well, shit.

Raven owns a lot of red clothes, because it's definitely her color, but she decidedly does _not_ own a fire-engine-red, bedazzled dress. She owns a slinky burgundy number that would probably make Roan Azgeda's jaw drop, but that is neither here nor there (even though she can't help but imagine it, even if only for a moment.)

Luckily, Monty and Miller return at that moment and the conversation turns to seating and catering and music, and there are only a few opportunities to get in some discreet digs at Roan (all of which Raven takes). But at the end of the day, the grooms-to-be are happy, and Raven calls Clarke and Octavia for a shopping date.

***

 

"Explain to me why we're doing this please?" Clarke whines after what has to be the seventeenth shop they leave empty-handed.

"Because I need a dress for the wedding."

"They had very lovely dresses in the last sixteen shops, you know."

"Yes. But none of them were fire-engine red. Or bedazzled."

Clarke wrinkles her nose. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I know it sounds horrible. But every other color would be way too easy."

"Too easy... to look at?"

"Too easy for Roan the Pompous to work into the wedding."

"Nicknames? Already?" Octavia pipes in, and Raven actually blushes.

"Just calling it how I see it."

"He can't be that bad. I love him on the show."

Raven snorts at Clarke's praise. "Of course you would, you're just as bossy."

Octavia not very helpfully contributes: "He is hot though. That's always a plus."

Raven makes an exaggerated gagging noise and turns back to a rack of garishly coloured and bedazzled dresses but, well, they're not wrong.

Roan is definitely, objectively hot - all sinewy arms and tanned skin and shaggy mane, and Raven has always liked her men with a good head of hair.

And, as she finds out over the following weeks, he actually isn't _that_ bad. Unlike his show persona, he actually listens to Monty and Miller, and when they keep changing their preferred color scheme, he just smiles sardonically and scraps whatever he's come up with so far. Or perhaps, she thinks, he doesn't mind all that much because at least now he doesn't have to find a way to integrate fire-engine-red into a green and lavender wedding. Hell, maybe he even somehow convinced them to change color schemes, in which case he's a manipulative asshole but also, she has to admit, pretty brilliant. But the color-carousel spins on and eventually, Raven stops trying to keep track of it and only takes an interest in food-related aspects of the planning process.

And the food is really how the entire thing turns into a gigantic mess in the first place.

***

  
In Raven's defense, it's been an incredibly long and stressful day and she hasn't had anything to eat since a quick breakfast, so she's on the brink of starvation. When she lets herself into Monty and Miller's apartment to find veritable feast of cold cuts and cheese and fruit and antipasti spread out on their massive dining table, she's much too far gone to question the dreamlike tableau before her - she just grabs one of the delicious, light pink pieces of rolled-up meat and stuffs it right in her mouth. Wherever Monty is, she's sure he'll understand.

Unfortunately, Monty isn't the one who catches her red-handed as she inhales her third piece of rolled-up heaven - it's Roan.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Raven grins sheepishly, swallowing the large piece of food in her mouth so fast it hurts going down.

"Saving a life?"

She tries to innocently bat her lashes the way she's seen Octavia do when she's trying to get past hardass doormen. The trick has no effect whatsoever on Roan, who keeps stalking towards her with an expression that is dangerous in more ways than one.

"Any five star restaurant would sell these veal carpaccio rolls for eighty bucks a plate, and you just wolfed one down like some kind of uncultured swine."

"Three actually," Raven corrects absentmindedly, too distracted by the way his biceps strain as he wrings a dishtowel in obvious distress. Then she registers his words. " _Eighty dollars?!_ Are you kidding me?"

“I assure you I'm not."

Raven abruptly chokes on thin air and starts coughing until she's pretty sure she's about to hack up a lung. Instead of gloating, however, Roan helps her sit down and then disappears, and by the time she's finally breathing again, he's holding out a glass of water. Raven takes it gratefully, but not without a hint of mistrust.

“And that will cost me what, my firstborn child?”

“It's tap water, I'm not giving you the good stuff until you've shown some respect for the culinary arts.”

Raven rolls her eyes but drinks it anyway, thankful to have something to soothe her burning throat.

While she's distracted, Roan uses the time to fill a plate with what looks like one piece of everything on the table, and then he's suddenly standing way too close before her and holding out another one of the meat rolls, except he somehow managed to attach flakes of parmigiano cheese and fresh rocket leaves to it.

“Open up.”

“What...” But protesting is a mistake because it makes her do exactly what he wanted: Open her mouth; and suddenly there's freaking Carpaccio in it, and she should spit it out on principle but it touches her tongue and the taste of it kind of explodes in her mouth. There's the veal, tender and savoury; the cheese, salty and crumbly; the rocket, crisp and a little bitter, and Raven's resistance kind of melts out of her.

“This is how you eat a carpaccio. And now you're going to chew this as slowly as you can, and you're going to taste every facet of it.”

And God, this is very much the most ridiculous situation she's ever been in, but that meat tasted a thousand times better the way he fed it to her, which makes her wonder what other sensory pleasures he's knowledgeable about... Plus, there's his voice, like gravel made smooth by the unstoppable force of the tide, and the way he watches her, never taking his eyes off her as she eats as slowly as possible.

Judging by his expression, it was still too fast.

“Let me guess: You never just _eat_. You're always doing something else at the same time: Working, watching TV, talking on the phone...”

Raven shrugs. “I'm a busy woman.”

He actually makes a “Tsk” sound at that, in a way that endearingly and very unsettlingly reminds her of her grandma.

Then he lifts a piece of spicy salsiccia to her mouth, and her grandma is the last person Raven wants to think about.

“You need to learn how to enjoy the simple things in life.”

“Like overpriced food?”

“Like being kind to yourself.” Raven wonders if she should tell him that “kind” is the last word anyone would ever associate with her. Bright. Brilliant. Sharp. Hard. Those are words people use to describe her, and she's fine with that because bright and hard have gotten her on the Forbes list.

But Roan continues, low and soft and impossible to ignore. “Like allowing yourself to relax and just enjoy the sensual pleasures in life. Taste, smell, touch... ”

The lecture is annoying, no doubt about it, but the food is incredible and his voice... his voice is gradually making her sink into some kind of trance, washing over her and slowly but surely erasing everything around them, until her world narrows down to him and her and whatever morsel of heaven he decides to feed her next.

It's dried tomatoes next, so full of flavour it feels like everything good about summer compacted into one small bite, and grilled zucchini and potatoes roasted in rosemary and _fuck_ she hasn't eaten anything this amazing in years, probably. And maybe he's right, maybe she isn't being kind enough to herself, but a sprawling tech imperium doesn't run itself, and she likes being in her head so much that sometimes she forgets she has a body too.

Not right now, though. Right now, Raven is _all_ body, and her mind has gone AWOL – and not just because of the food.

To her credit, Raven does make it halfway down the table before she cracks. Roan has moved closer at some point and is now standing between her legs, holding a piece of fresh fig. He looks at her questioningly, and she understands that he's asking permission. Instead of saying anything, she simply holds his gaze and opens her mouth, and he lifts the fruit to her lips to let her nibble on it. She somehow manages to hold his gaze the entire time, the heat of it washing over her as she ponders her next move. It's risky, but then again, Raven didn't get to where she is now without taking a few risks.

When the fig is down to its soft shell and he lowers his hand, fingertips dragging not-quite-on-purpose across her lips, she stops him. Holding on to his wrist, she steadies herself as she leans forward to kiss him, slow and hot.

When she draws back again his face is blank, and for a moment, she's afraid she misread things. Maybe sensually handfeeding gourmet food to people associated with his weddings is just a thing he does.

But then he surges forward to kiss her again and she meets him just a fraction of a second later, crashing into him and almost falling off the barstool in her eagerness.

His hands prevent her from tipping over, one around her waist and the other at the back of her neck as his tongue swipes against her lips and she eagerly opens under him. Closing the remaining space between them brings him right up to her center, his heat meeting hers through the layers of stiff cloth between them, and she bucks against him.

He fists his hand in her hair, the other one still tight around her lower back, forcing her to tilt back her head and bare her neck so he can trail kisses from the hollow of her clavicle to the edge of her jaw. She claws her nails into his shoulders and hooks her good leg around his hip, both to steady herself and so that she can rock against him until he pauses his ministrations to bury his face in the side of her neck, his breathing erratic as it bursts against her skin.

Trusting that he'll keep her from falling off, she lets her hands wander, one tangling in his hair, the other skimming down his spine to slip under the hem of his T-shirt. She lets her fingertips explore for a bit, skimming up and down his side, then moving to his front to trace the ridges of his abs before teasingly slipping a finger into the waistband of his slacks.

He groans and draws back to look at her with a pained expression.

"Monty and Nathan could be back any minute. If you want me to look at all presentable, you should stop now"

"Or", Raven smiles innocently as she deftly opens the button of his pants to cup him over his boxer briefs, "I'll just have to be quick."

Another strangled moan as she frees his cock from the tight underwear and grips it firmly, and then he's kissing her neck again, alternating soft licks with puffs of hot breath that make goosebumps break out all over her body and she wishes she could shimmy out of her jeans and have his hands mirror hers. But the damned things are tight, and in any case, there's no way she'll be able to enjoy sex while perched on a bar stool.

So she tries to ignore the slickness between her legs and focus only on him, her fingertips dancing up and down his length before returning to circle his tip. She is rewarded with a delightful scrape of teeth across her pulse and decides that this is the next best thing: After weeks of trying to undo his smug, unwavering composure, she's going to make him come undone under her hands.

And she does, a few strokes having him hard and twitching under her hand, and a few more until he groans and stiffens. Raven has the presence of mind to grab the dishtowel off his shoulder and press it against him, because those stains would be difficult to explain to Monty and Miller.

Roan meanwhile is still trying to catch his breath, somehow managing to lean against her and hold her up at the same time, which is impressive and does fascinating things to the muscles of his arm and back. She runs her hands down his sides, unable to get enough of him even as her mind starts to clear and make room for one thought: What the fuck did she just do?

Roan draws back to adjust himself and zip up his slacks again, and only then does he look at her again, a smile on his face that she could almost describe as “sheepish”.

"I feel like that wasn't altogether fair to you." He actually looks a little bashful then, and Raven decides to be magnanimous.

"You can always return the favor some other time."

"I really hope so."

"Good." She nods, but really, she suggested it more out of principle (she gave him what she's pretty sure was a great orgasm, it's only fair that she gets one in return), before realising that taking him up on his offer will mean that she won't be able to act like this - whatever _this_ was - actually happened.

She slides off the barstool and heads for the bathroom to freshen up and to get away from him, who looks even hotter now with flushed cheeks and wide-blown pupils.

Monty gets home before she can return, and Roan must have managed to clear up all traces of their little encounter because her friend doesn't ask any suspicious questions, even if his eyes do linger questioningly on her flushed cheeks.

She flees as soon as she can.

***

 

The next time she meets him is when they're tasting wines and champagne for the wedding – or at least, Raven is supposed to be doing so and was looking forward to it too. Instead, she's caught up in a meeting that runs late and then ambushed by an angry cheater her app helped flush out. By the time security has escorted the man from the premises and she finally makes it to the wine bar where she was supposed to meet the happy couple and their wedding planner, they're all gone. Or so she thinks, until she spots Roan inside, chatting with the woman behind the bar and looking over when he sees her peering in through the glass door.

Raven heeds his gesture to come in, more than a little tongue-tied now that she's unexpectedly facing him alone. After all, the last time they met, it ended in a spontaneous make-out and handjob session, for no reason at all, so Raven doesn't entirely trust herself around him anymore.

But she's here now and he's already spotted her, so backing out is not an option anymore.

Roan gets up to meet her, taking her coat and pulling out a chair in perfect gentlemanly fashion. Unlike her, he seems perfectly, enragingly composed.

“Nathan and Monty had to leave, they're having dinner with Monty's parents tonight.” He smiles and pushes in her chair as she sits down. “I told them it may not be the best idea to do so right after a wine tasting, but Nathan insisted.”

Raven laughs nervously. “Oh, I bet he did. He's terrified of Monty's mom. To be fair, she is a very intimidating woman.”

Roan nods knowingly. “I see. In that case, I hope the wine helped.”

He sits down opposite her and waves at the woman behind the bar, who comes over with a whole tray of differently shaped glasses, then leaves again, presumably to get the wine.

“Didn't Monty and Nathan decide on their wine already?”

“They did. But since I already have you here, I'd like to take the opportunity and spend an evening drinking exquisite wine with you.” The waitress (bar owner? Sommelière?) returns, but Roan holds out a hand to stop her before pouring the dark red drink. “If you want to.”

Raven considers the question.

“I know this may look a bit like an ambush right now, but we really just finished. And the wine's already opened and paid for, so...”

She wonders if that means this is not a date, and then if that makes it easier to stay.

Whatever it is that convinces her in the end, Raven looks at the woman waiting patiently beside them.

“Trust me, wine is exactly what I needed tonight. This way, it's just going to be a lot better than the one I would have bought at the corner bodega.”

Roan chuckles.

“Rough day?”

“Not particularly. Just a pissed-off, soon to be divorced guy who made it past security.”

The smile drops off his face, immediately replaced by a worried expression.

“Did he get into your office? You weren't hurt, were you?”

“No, I managed to talk him down until security arrived.” She shrugs. “It happens, from time to time. People like to blame our app for their own shitty choices. It's just... these encounters always make me question if it's right, doing what I do. I mean, obviously mySpy isn't all we do these days, it's actually just a tiny part. But it is the thing I'm famous for, and sometimes I wonder if that's the legacy I want to leave behind.”

This is not the kind of stuff she usually tells people she barely knows, let alone in such a relatively public setting. But clearly, she's still a little shaken up about the encounter, and Roan is here and supplying her with wine and looking like he wants to personally fight every cheater who ever blamed her for their mistakes. It's endearing and irritating in equal measure – she doesn't need anyone to fight her battles for her.

“Well, just goes to show being an entrepreneur isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

He looks like he wants to say something, then apparently decides to let her get away with acting like this is all a joke. “You should try being a wedding planner. That's no picnic either.” He leans forward a little to whisper ominously: “So. Much. Pastel.”

Raven snorts into her drink, perhaps less amused by the joke itself and more driven by determination to move on. But the remark opens up a good opportunity to change the subject and to find out something that's been bugging her for a while now:

“Why _did_ you become a wedding planner?”

And Roan explains, starting with his childhood, his larger-than-life mother, and the things she won't get to see in any documentary about the great Nia Azgeda: the evenings falling asleep alone on the set of one of his mother's movies when she was between husbands or between nannies, the strict tutors, the brutal routine of dancing, singing and acting lessons his mother put him through from the age of five, determined to turn him into an even bigger star than herself.

“When I was 21, I cashed in my trust fund money and opened a flower shop instead. It was my “fuck you” to her, and it worked beautifully.”

“And yet you ended up in show business again.”

He laughs. “Maybe I sold out after all. But at least I did it doing what I love.”

The road from one little flower shop to two dozen employees and a TV show isn't that different from Raven's own career, really, and soon they're laughing over stories of their early professional mishaps.

That's when Raven finds out that, when she's not suspiciously watching him for any signs that he'll ruin her friends' wedding, she actually enjoys talking to Roan. She even tells him about the things she usually keeps to herself: how inhumanly hard she worked to get into MIT on a full scholarship with no support from her mother. How much it hurts that whenever people talk or write about her now, the humiliation that sparked her success always overshadows the hard work and brilliant mind that made it possible. How frustrating it is to be painted as this jealous shrew who built an empire on mistrusting her boyfriend ( _Rightfully mistrusting!_ , Raven slurs after her seventh tiny glass of wine) when all she wants to be known as is a great developer.

Oddly, Roan looks a little guilty when she explains this.

“I have to admit, I was kind of expecting you to be just like that. When Monty told me you were going to be his maid of honour, I thought I'd have to deal with this bitter, belligerent hag. Instead you were.... well, you are belligerent. But definitely not,” he grins toothily, “a bitter hag. Not at all bitter, actually. I've never seen anyone in a wedding party so determined to see the couple happy.”

It's a genuine, heartfelt compliment, and if her cheeks weren't already heated from the wine, Raven would be blushing right now.

Actually, she's already blushing quite a bit. Because as entertaining as their conversation is, Raven can't help but flash back to their last encounter and find that it's definitely weird to be making conversation when she still clearly remembers the sounds he made when she made him come undone, the way he looked immediately afterwards. The rush of it, too, and his promise to repay her in kind...

But then the flow of the conversation pulls her along again, and before she knows it they've made it through a series of different wines and the woman – who does own the bar, Raven finds out at some point – starts wiping tables and putting up chairs, a clear indicator that she wants to close up. Roan notices it too, and when he looks at her again, something has shifted in his eyes.

“There's still the champagne to taste... but we can always take that to go.”

A part of her wants nothing more than to say yes, take him home and have her way with him. The other part, the part that's been burned too often, asks:

"Before I decide, do we need to talk about what happened last week?"

Roan hesitates only for a second, then he shrugs. "We don't have to, in my opinion. But if you really want to know: I think what happened last week happened, and it was great, and I'd like for it to happen again."

He holds her eyes when he says it, and Raven doesn't know if it's that look or his frank, no-bullshit way of evaluating the situation, but she makes her decision then: To let him in just enough for a repeat (or rather a continuation) of their next encounter without fear of complications.

“Okay. Let's take the champagne to go.”

Luckily, they're not far from her apartment, because Roan starts kissing her the second they leave the bar, and by the time they get out of the cab at her building, she's just about ready to rip his clothes off in the elevator.

She restrains herself until the apartment door falls shut behind them, then whirls around, pushes him back against the door and crashes her lips to his. Apparently, one week of knowing what it feels like to kiss the man has made her unable to resist doing it again, and much, much more.

At least, that's the plan, and Roan is all too happy to let her dictate the rhythm of their kiss as she runs her hands over his shoulders and arms. But when her hands descend to his belt, he catches them – and next thing she knows, it's her with her back to the door and her hands pinned up on either side of her head; his grip just tight enough to keep her hands in place but not so tight as to bruise or make her feel scared. She grins wolfishly.

“Oh, that's how we're doing this?”

“I told you, you need to learn to take your time.” He scrapes his teeth down the side of her neck, sending a shiver down her back. “So I am going to take my time with you.”

And he sticks to that resolution, even when she's finally managed to lure him into her bedroom, even when she simply takes of her clothes in an attempt to seduce him into giving up his plan.

But Roan steadfastly refuses to be rushed, instead lavishing attention on every inch of her until she's nothing more than a squirming mess – and then he settles between her legs to continue the maddening process, slowly but steadily driving her higher and higher until she cries out and bucks off the bed and possibly passes out for a fraction of a second.

When she's no longer seeing stars, she lifts her head to look at Roan incredulously, still settled in between her legs with the smuggest smile she has ever seen.

“I told you I was going to return the favor.”

“I didn't think you'd return it with interest.”

He chuckles, then starts kissing his way up her body, causing small shocks wherever his lips touch her oversensitive skin. And though Raven feels completely drained, by the time he kisses her lips, she's already eager to continue, greedily leaning into his kiss while her hands fumble with his shirt. Thankfully, he gets the hint and takes the shirt off himself, only breaking away as long as absolutely necessary to pull it above his head before he returns to kissing her. But Raven doesn't let him get settled in beside her: She starts yanking at his belt instead, and when he laughs and tries to stop her, she playfully slaps away his hands.

“I've learned my lesson about taking my time, okay? But what else did you say I'm supposed to do – enjoy myself? Well, I want to enjoy myself with you inside me.”

He chuckles again at her bold statement, but there's a hungry edge to his eyes, and when she pulls down his pants and boxers, he doesn't stop her like he did before. Instead, he lifts his hips to help her push them down, kicks them off along with his socks, and immediately rolls on top of her again. Apparently, she's not the only one reaching the end of her patience.

There's no teasing anymore after that, just fumbling on a condom and frenzied kisses; his strangled moan and her sigh of relief when he pushes inside her, and Raven thinks she understands what he meant about enjoying the sensual pleasures because she can't remember the last time she was so overwhelmed with sensation, so focused on nothing but the man with her, so aware of every little point of contact between their heated bodies.

By the time she's come a second time and he has climaxed while pressing a bruising kiss to her lips, Raven is too tired even to remember to gently throw him out, the way she usually does with her one-night-stands. She doesn't even protest when he pulls her close and presses a kiss to her temple – she's too busy falling right asleep.

Since he's already stayed over, Raven makes good use of having him there the next morning for a quick, very satisfying round of morning sex, and when she leaves him behind to head to work, Raven's pretty sure she's got this completely ridiculous attraction out of her system for good.

***

 

Sadly, her catholic grandma was right about the whole "weakness of the flesh"-thing: Barely a week later it happens again, and soon after that, she gives Roan her phone number and tells him to call if he has time to kill.

Which brings them here, to a grey, chilly morning that makes her wriggle deeper under the covers and not protest when he pulls her close to his chest. It's just the cold, she tells herself, and makes an awkward joke before she has to face the reality of just how much she enjoys this.

“So, do you also help with the wedding nights, or just the weddings?”

He stares at her for a moment, then bursts into laughter – throaty, hoarse barks to match his voice – and Raven suddenly feels like an idiot.

“I guess you've heard that one before.”

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, then he shakes his head and smiles brightly.

“No, I can't say that I have.”

He leans forward and kisses her, and the pleasant shock of it almost manages to distract her from the fact that this is not a hot and hungry pre-sex-kiss. This kiss is sweet, tender, full of fondness – and completely unneccessary to what they're doing here.

Drawing back, she hastens to untangle herself from the sheets and sit up, wincing in anticipated pain when she sees her brace lying across the room.

Following her look, he spots it too, and he's out of the bed before she can even try to get up. He quickly fetches the damned thing and kneels before her to help her put it on, and Raven wants to snap that she can do it herself but the words get stuck in her throat as she stares at him. He's completely nude, his hair is all over the place, and he's kneeling before her on the shaggy carpet. By all rights, he should look ridiculous.

Instead, he looks regal and humble at the same time – as if he was some knight of old swearing allegiance to her rather than just the guy she occasionally fucks, helping her out with the stupid brace.

He has barely closed the last strap before she's on her feet and off to the bathroom, leaning against the closed door and forcing herself to just breathe. Something is happening here, and it's not good. This was supposed to be a hate-fuck, not a lounging-in-bed-together, laughing-at-the-other's-jokes, helping-with-everyday-tasks kind of relationship.

This was not supposed to happen.

***

 

She puts an end to whatever it is they are having after that, which means she simply avoids being alone with him for the last week before they depart for Italy and doesn't answer Roan's flirty texts until they stop.

She still can't resist bringing out the slinky burgundy dress for the rehearsal dinner, just to see if she was right about its potency.

Roan's jaw may not drop, but his eyes widen when he sees her and then darken ever-so-slightly, and when she goes to touch up her make-up after finishing her speech, he pulls her into the wine cellar and kisses her hard while his hands push up the silky skirt of the dress.

With his lips hot on her neck, two fingers buried inside her and his thumb on her clit, he makes her come faster than she ever has before, and Raven has no idea how she's going to get through the wedding tomorrow – an entire day around him during which she'll have to try and keep from turning into a flushed, gooey mess.

She manages, but barely. Because not only is the wedding absolutely beautiful and Monty and Miller the happiest couple ever, but Roan actually managed to incorporate her ridiculous fire-engine-red dress into the color scheme. No, not incorporate: He built the entire scheme around the blasted thing so that instead of looking horribly tacky, Raven actually _glows_.

Because the colours he chose, and somehow managed to bring together harmoniously, are orange, purple and midnight blue - the colours of a dramatic sunset, and Raven gets to be the blazing red sun in the middle of it. There are even tiny fairy lights strung up in the wooden ceiling beams, twined together with midnight blue cloth to create the illusion of a starry night sky and perfectly mirroring the rhinestones on her dress.

Of course, she tells herself, she's reading too much into this – there's no way the man built an entire wedding's theme around her spiteful dress choice. It's more likely he simply saw her challenge and decided to rise to it, just to prove that he could. But whatever it is, she can barely meet his eyes, and that doesn't change until the wedding's almost over and Raven has done a resampling of the entire wine menu.

Only then, when the party's slowing down, does she dare to approach him. All the guests have either left, are slumped over somewhere, or, like Monty and Nathan, are obliviously dancing to cheesy love songs on the dance floor. With the kind of confidence and optimism only a very drunk person can achieve, Raven stalks over to where Roan is instructing his army of helpers in first clean-up measures.

“You did a great job with the wedding.” She's aiming for a tone somewhere between haughty and magnanimous, but the impression is somewhat tampered by the slight slur.

Nonetheless, Roan looks pleased.

“Thank you. Someone inspired me to go with a more unusual colour scheme, and I think it worked out pretty well.”

“It did,” Raven says, earnestly, wondering if the scratch in her voice and the sweet ache in her chest are still related to color schemes and wedding decorations.

Roan, apparently, is wondering the same thing – he looks at her silently for several long moments before speaking again, voice warm and only a little hesitant.

“I had some help. The couple picked a smart maid of honour, the wedding practically organised itself.”

It's pretty blatant flattery, seeing as she barely even helped, but Raven's drunk and confused and maybe flattery will help.

What does help is the thing he says next.

“I'd like to see you again when we're not busy with wedding stuff. To take you on a date.”

“The wine-tasting wasn't a date?”

“You weren't supposed to notice that.”

“Well, I have an IQ of 145, so you're gonna have to do better than that.”

He laughs. “Duly noted. I guess I'll just have to come out and say that I like you.”

Her heart skips a beat at this admission, but the fear she expects... doesn't come. Which is odd, given that this situation is just the kind of thing she's been trying to avoid. But it may be the wine she had or the general happy haze pervading the room or the fact that the man turned a wedding venue into a sunset just so it would match her hideous dress color, but Raven finds that she likes the idea.

“Alright, I'll go out with you. As long as you make me breakfast. In bed.”

He smirks, and that glint sneaks back into his eyes.

“Food in bed? Aren't you naughty.”

“It's hardly my fault you practically conditioned me to associate food with sex.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, but then dips down to kiss her, quick and soft, and Raven's heart feels like it's swelling in her chest.

“Breakfast in bed it is.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Are Raven and Roan shitty for having sex in their friends' living-room? Yeah, a little bit.


End file.
